


Witch Hunt

by Sinedra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Danger, Discovery, Eventual Romance, F/M, Humiliation, Hurt, Magic, Magic Revealed, Ministry of Magic, Post-Movie(s), Romance, Teaching, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 00:14:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3830071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinedra/pseuds/Sinedra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orla finds a dying Snape and nurses him back to health. He realizes she has magic and is stunned to find she never knew, but she refuses him to just leave her with this new knowledge. She blackmails him into teaching her how to use it, much to his chagrin. But, this knowledge comes with a price as Orla will have to face the Wizengamot to defend herself and Snape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

These moments should belong in horror stories, because she’d never bloody asked for this! There was a reason she quit medical university. This shit happened to them, not her! She wasn’t even officially qualified to handle it! Taking one more look at the wounded, and probably dying if her luck was that great, man, she called out for her boyfriend.

The adrenaline shot into her veins like liquid drugs and elicited a strange calm that certainly wasn’t what she felt; inside she was in near hysteria. She knelt beside the man and gently rolled him onto his back. No longer on his side, Orla finally could gauge his injuries: snake bites. Probably poisonous as he looked at death’s door. Fumbling for his wrist, she nearly cried in joy at finding a pulse. He was alive, now to go from there.

She tried to dig through her medical knowledge for the procedures or treatment. These bites bothered her, something about them was dodgy.  
“Babe- holy shit.” She swallowed thickly as she heard his gasp, attempting to keep her own head clear as her hands became sticky with the stranger’s blood. “Should I call for an ambulance?”

“By the time they get here, he’ll die.” God there were profuse amounts of blood, she’d never dealt with this quantity before. Hell, she’d be aiming to be a nurse not a surgeon; the most she’d ever dealt with was the syringe full she’d draw for tests. Orla wasn’t squeamish, but the sheer copious amount of the coppery smelling fluid caused her stomach to flip.

“Bloody hell, poor git,” the weak voice sounded behind her. Patrick was being absolutely worthless in this situation; gawking over her shoulder and warily keeping his distance. “Was he stabbed or mauled?”

“Neither, looks like it was a pissed off snake.”

“The hell it is.” His disregard for her medical studies had her prepared to fire back a vehement retort in his face. But his next comment stopped her, “There’s too much blood for that.”

Now that she thought about it, she’d never heard of this much blood being lost before. The bites, or what little she could see of them, appeared huge. Could they get that big? Orla couldn’t treat him properly if she didn’t know what he was suffering from. Taking a deep breath, she stuck with the poison route.

How had one of her texts phrased it? “Snake venom can act as an anticoagulant…” Alright, she took a deep breath, that was a start. She knew several things to avoid, like constricting the wounds, but she had to stop the bleeding.

Turning to Patrick, she said, “Reach into my jumper pocket, get my mobile, and go to the contacts.” The calm in her voice was more for herself, but she heard her boyfriend take a few deep breaths. She felt him pull out her little blue mobile, the shaking of his hands evident. Ignoring the several beeps that followed, she removed her jumper and pressed it to the worst wound.

“Now what?!”

“Choose Gerald Barton, he’s a professor at the university I attended. He lives down the street and should have anti-venom.” This time she removed her tank-top and pressed it against another bite. Modesty had never inconvenienced her quite as much as other girls. Besides, she habitually ran in her sports bras.

She heard him hit another several buttons and mutter, “Why would a professor have anti-venom just laying around? I would rather call an ambulance. Nothing we-”

“Were you not paying attention?” she snapped, “he wouldn’t make the trip. Besides, Barton used to be a doctor and is a regular hiker. He keeps stocked up.”

Patrick’s groan nettled her. “Don’t get your knickers twisted- Oh, hello? Professor Barton? Yes hi, I’m with Orla Dacosta, a former stu- oh I’m glad you remember her. I know it’s a Saturday, but we found a man in great need of anti-venom.”

During the slight pause, she flipped sweaty strands of hair out of her eyes and listened carefully as her boyfriend gave Barton the directions to their location in the park. Her hands shaking as blood seeped through the soaked fabric and licked her fingers.

“Do you think he’ll make the wait?”

She ignored the negative thoughts and declared wistfully, “As long as he doesn’t bleed out, and I won’t let him. At least he isn’t conscious.”

“Why?”

“Panic or movement increases heart rate, which spreads the venom faster and speeds up the bleeding.”

So they waited like this: Patrick pacing as he looked for Barton and Orla hunched over the poor man. Her back ached and she desperately wanted to scratch the itch on her nose, but she didn’t dare remove her hands. She wished Patrick would offer to trade places… but of course he didn’t.

It felt like years before her friend arrived.

She heard, more than saw, as he approached them at a light jog, a bag carefully clutched to his chest. “Orla, tell me I’m not too late.”

“No, there’s still a pulse… or at least there was before I applied pressure.” She watched him check, nodding to confirm her observation.

Offering a tentative smile, he got to work unpacking his bag. “Reassuring to know that you were paying attention during those morning lectures.”

“I may have hated the medical field, but I did try to absorb it all.”

“Well that may have just saved this man’s life. Could you show me one of the wounds?” He let out a sympathetic hiss as she removed the jacket briefly. “Any idea what kind of bite?”

“No idea, I was thinking snake, but I was hoping you would know.”

“I agree, even though they’re large for a snake, I just can’t tell what kind. I’m glad I brought polyvalent anti-venom rather than adder antivenin.” He quickly dug through his bag and pulled out a vial which, she figured would normally have been clear, but was frosty. She knew the anti-venom had been refrigerated, which meant is should be fresh.

“What’s the difference?” Patrick didn’t sound good. Was she a bad girlfriend if she hoped he got sick? At least his incessant babbling would stop, he’d nearly chewed her ear off during the wait.

Since Gerald was busy prepping the anti-venom, she decided to answer. “Polyvalent can be used for most poisons rather than one specific type. Antivenin is just another term for anti-venom.”

She might be indifferent about a medical career, but modern medicine was amazing. Less than a hundred years ago, anti-venom had to be snake specific to work, now it didn’t.

“How do you think he got those bites?”

“The better question is how he got them on his neck.” Gerald corrected Patrick as he stored the needle and vial. “Orla, why don’t you take your friend there to my truck. It’s down the path since I couldn’t drive it directly here.”

She was reluctant in moving, keeping her hands carefully on the bloody garments. She was the one to find him, he was her responsibility, she should remain and help-

Gerald, knowing her better than most people, said, “I brought extra towels, grab them so we can replace your clothes and use one to clean yourself off.”

His tone was final and she unwillingly let him relieve her. Patrick didn’t protest as she led the way, his face still quite ashen. Surprisingly he was quiet, she couldn’t have been more thankful. Last thing she needed was his badgering.. now that the adrenaline was wearing off. The world coming a back into focus, the sun burning high above as they lost the cover of the trees.

Christ she was exhausted.

The familiar vehicle wasn’t as far as she feared, making her sigh in relief. “He leaves his doors unlocked, so can you open one for me?” Her boyfriend’s face tensed, and she figured he’d come to some kind of unpleasant conclusion. She’d laugh later, for now she carefully reached into the black truck and found several folded white towels sitting on the passenger seat.

The first one she used to clean as much of the blood off herself as she could, then to wipe off the sweat that was dripping down her face and neck. Wincing, she ignored her shoulders as the coarse fabric irritated her sunburned skin. Damn, she’d forgotten sunscreen.

Glancing at the towel in her pink stained hands, she found herself wishing for the man to survive. Despite her earlier confidence, there was just too blood to remain optimistic.

Patrick had grabbed the other towels and the pair made their way back down the trail in tense silence. Gerald looked slightly winded and, dare she say, terrified, but even she must have looked a fright. It had been a long time since he had been in an E.R.

“Well?”

“I’d say our patient has a long road ahead of him.” Removing her ruined clothes proved that the bleeding had slowed, but would it be enough? “He’s stable for now, but he’ll need to be checked on constantly. I’ve got more medicine that I’d like to administer.”

“I could do it.”

“As dedicated a student I know you were, great care needs to be taken with the antidote. The doses are tricky to get right.”

“So, does that mean we can send him to a hospital now?” Was it just her, or was Patrick being an absolute wanker? He sounded almost hopeful while making his proposition.

She kept her smug smirk to herself as Barton said, “I’m afraid not.” He was now wiping off his own hands as she resumed applying pressure. “The doctors there aren’t really familiar with this method. Besides, I couldn’t make that drive everyday to ensure they did it right.” At her inquisitive look he answered, “Could you look after him? You’re closer and only a few minutes drive from my house-”

“Why can’t you?” Patrick sounded furious, which he shouldn’t have, it wasn’t his flat to begin with.

“Because I have a wife and three sons, not to mention two dogs. It’s a horrible environment for a critical patient. Orla also doesn’t have to grade papers. She can look after him better than I.” He almost seemed… nervous at the suggestion. Actually Gerald had seemed anxious ever since they returned.

“But you said she couldn’t administer the medicine.”

“No, I have enough time to do that. Let’s give him a few more minutes so the anti-venom can kick in and then we’ll move him to your flat. Do you have an extra bed?”

Orla shook her head, “No, but I’m fine sleeping on the couch. I do have extra sheets we can use for him though.”

Barton nodded and they waited. Orla was thankful that the sun was almost down, else the park would be teaming with people. Some fool would’ve sent him to the hospital to die.

***  
The warm water felt so delightful. The night before had been chaotic and she had fallen asleep almost immediately, still filthy, the feeling had been ruddy awful. But the lengthy stint in the shower had been worth it.

She spent plenty of time braiding her long auburn hair, pinning back her styled fringe, not wanting to wake up her guest with the hair dryer. Well, that’s if he was close to consciousness. After putting on jeans and a blouse she checked back in on her patient. Hadn’t even moved an inch.

She had popped in before her shower to grab clothes and see how he was. No charge, he remained terribly pale and the bandages had nearly bled through. They would have to be changed soon.

She hadn’t paid much attention to him yesterday, but now that she wasn’t panicking she had more time. She didn’t figure that he was much less pallid when he was awake and she couldn’t help but wonder if his black hair was coarse or soft. He was surprisingly skinnier than she first figured and his hooked nose was a very dominate feature.

Something Orla didn’t figure was that he’d be muscular, and for the most part she was right. When her father’s friend had pulled off his black coat and white shirt, she realized that he wasn’t without some muscle. It was very little though. Overall she didn’t find him much to look at, but it’s not like she was shopping around anyway.

Patrick had protested when Gerald removed his shirt, so loudly that she feared someone would come knocking; Orla grinned as she imagined his conniption had it been necessary to fully strip the stranger.

With the stress of the situation mostly blown over, she found her anger had ebbed away. They had both been placed in a taxing situation and so, of course, he lashed out a bit, showing his boyish tendency toward jealousy.

Well, in light of it all, nighttime and evening runs through the park were officially ruined for her now.

As she sat beside him something caught her eye; her finger gently traced the foreign shape on his left arm. At first she’d figured that it was a scar, until she took a closer look. It was a tattoo, very faint but she could positively make out the design: a skull with a snake emerging from its mouth, the coils curled and twisted. Even as faded as it was in the morning light, looking at it gave her chills.

Having removed her finger when she’d leaned closer, the deep auburn ends of her french braid fell over her shoulder and brushed his pale skin. Had it not have been quiet in her room, she might not have heard his soft sigh. Or was it a groan? The brief twitch of his fingers caused her to jump back in embarrassment.

To Orla’s relief, and slight disappointment, he didn’t stir further. “Do try and wake,” she said gently, “the day is beautiful and it’s too early yet to die.”

Had it been a trick of the light or had he moved again? She gave a slight smile and felt more confident that he would live. He at least looked peaceful, the lines on his face having suggested a life full of misery. They made it difficult to guess his age.

Taking her light blue eyes off his prone form, she made her way out to the kitchen to eat. Checking her clock, she thought about calling her mother and almost forgot that in America it was still very early in the morning. So instead she fixed up a pot of tea and enjoyed one of her few mornings off.

She wanted to do something, but feared that the worst would happen if she left. Still, he’d made it through the night so that was reassuring.

Pulling out her copy of The Lord of the Rings and opened the tome to the second book and simply read. She’s become so lost in the story that when there was a light rap on her door, she jumped.

It was Gerald.

“How are things?” He inquired as she let him in.

She smiled and re-heated the tea. “I checked in on him a few hours ago and there wasn’t a change, but there’s still a steady pulse regardless. Bleeding hasn’t stopped though.”

Hearing an odd noise, she glanced back up to see him patting the bag she had finally realized he had. “Don’t worry, I have something I believe will help, but it’ll take a few days to fully work.”

“I know you’ll do your best.” He placed a hand on her shoulder before he moved further into her flat. “Need help?”

“Nope.” And with that he closed her bedroom door. She’s never known Barton to be a nervous man, but his response had sounded rather clipped. Her face fell into a frown, after all it was her room and there shouldn’t be anything to hide.

She tried not to let it bother her, but the curiosity pricked at her. She retrieved her book and took up her spot on the rented couch. A rented flat had its perks, particularly furnished, but it lacked any emotional attachment when most items didn’t belong to her. It was just easier this way for when the lease ended.

She could hardly concentrate on the story after she took the kettle off the stove, this was taking too long. She’d only finished a page when the door finally opened and he joined her. Seeing Orla holding such a thick book caused him to chuckle. “It’s surprising that you have such a patience for books when textbooks drive you mental.”

This drew a laugh from her. “Only because I wasn’t interested. Same with sewing and chess, I’m not good at either and they take forever to complete, the combination is lethal to me.” She paused and glanced at the bloody bandages that he threw into his bag. “Is he alright?”

“Yeah. Gave him the anti-venom and changed the bandages. Hopefully he’ll be conscious in a few days.”

Orla was truly happy to hear this, but she didn’t know what to say. He was a stranger, having him in her home unconscious was alright but awake was a different story. Instead of speaking, an awkward silence followed and she poured Gerald a cup of her earl gray.

Finally she decided to ask him about how classes were going at the university. He had only good things to report, leading into a polite conversation which quickly died.

“Orla?”

“Yes?”

“Look, as an old friend and teacher I want to know how you’re doing. Last night was the first in months that you’ve called.” Had Gerald Barton only been her father’s friend, she probably would have cut all ties to him, but he was hers as well. It was touching that his concern was genuine.

She shrugged; the tea cup in front of her had hardly been touched. “Alright, I hate my ruddy job but I make enough to get by. I’d love to go back to a university and finally get a degree… problem is I have no idea what I want to study.”

“What about your parents?”

“Well I’m sure you’ve heard that my father moved to London before I moved here.” He nodded, probably remembering the first time she’d told him. “Well mum moved from New York, said it was too busy and crowded.”

Gerald snorted, “That sounds like Isla.” He took another sip and glanced at the only picture she had in her living room: a photo containing her father, mother, and herself with smiles plastered on their faces… several years before the divorce. “Where is she now?”

“In the Tennessee state, Memphis I believe she said. She managed to rent a nice house in the suburbs.”

“Well I’m happy for her.”

“Me as well, I just wish she were closer. It would make talking to her easier.” Orla took one look at the picture and back at her cup.

Her guest cleared his throat and her eyes lighted on him. “Who was the boy from yesterday?”

To this she smirked, he never stopped acting like a second father when it came to certain things. “Patrick Turrill, my boyfriend. He’s got a job at posh French restaurant. With how good he is I won’t be surprised if he makes head chef soon.” This seemed to appease him, she hoped he knew she was smart about who she dated. A job was a must.

“Well I must go, give me a call if our patient worsens.” They both stood and she walked him to the door.

“Please give Elizabeth my love and tell the boys I said hello.”

“Oh I will, you’ll have to visit and tell them yourself soon.”

“Of course. Goodbye Gerald.” He gave a warm smile before leaving.

After cleaning up the tea remnants, she started a late lunch and went back to her room. The man was still out, but that was fine for now. The same could not be said for her room. It was horribly unorganized and she used the brief time to clean. Not very exciting, but she refused to give this man a heart attack so shortly after he recovered.

It was a somber way to spend a gorgeous afternoon, but necessary.

Patrick stopped by after his shift and the two sat on the couch and talked. He was very curious about her relationship with Gerald and laughed at his foolishness once she told him.

As usual, he made dinner and they sat together indulging in a bottle of wine he’d bought for her birthday. It was a great evening, she thought, as they popped on a movie afterward.

“Sorry about yesterday,” he apologized again. She was turning the volume down as he brought their wine glasses. “I’ve never… well you know.”

“It’s alright, I was stressed too.” She cuddled against him as the film started. She didn’t hold it against him anymore. “Let’s just put it behind us and enjoy tonight.”

During the movie he pulled her feet into his lap and massaged them as well as her calves, making jokes about how the actors were “mental” and the plot was “a blooming joke”. His half-serious jests were accompanied by a feminine snickering which pulled a handsome smile on his face.

Pulling her into his side, he turned the telly off as the credits rolled. “Well I’m glad to see you didn’t get too burnt yesterday.”

Snorting, she pulled the neck of her blouse to the side to reveal pink shoulders.  
“Never mind,” then a snort, “At least, this time, your freckles stand out more than the burn.” Sure enough, the light dots all along her shoulders were a seasoned brown that she wished her skin could mimic.

They continued teasing each other till her clock said half ten. Cursing the upcoming week, she kissed Patrick goodbye and remade the couch so she could sleep.

Checking again, there was still no change in the stranger, so she readied herself for bed. She hadn’t been down long when she swore she’d heard a muttering.

Shooting upright, Orla waited for several minutes with bated breath. Nothing else came though, and she slowly sank back down with disappointment. She’d sworn that the sound had slid from the open room that was currently occupied. So she waited several more minutes in hopes of hearing more.


	2. Chapter 2

“Blimey!” Her fellow waiters looked on in sympathy, “How many ruddy times can he change his order?!” Slamming her pad and pen on the counter, she checked her watch. It was almost five, another hour and she could return to her flat. Just one more-

“Dacosta!” She nearly did a pirouette, she turned so quickly, and found her manager had closed in on her. “Why are you just standing around?” The tiny, red-faced man looked ready to expire; the sweat was practically pouring off of him.

Checking through the window into the dining room, she finally answered. “I only have a few occupied tables, besides I'm waiting on a customer's order.”

“But you were just back here for table 37.” He had snatched the ticket from her fingers and adopted a look of pure panic.

“Yeah well the wanker changed it again.” Her manager graced her with a condescending glare he used every time she slipped up. His mouth twitched, a hearty speech prepared on his tongue. So Orla retorted, “After he spent seven minutes mumbling incoherently. I've had it up to _here_ with him.” She dropped her hand from her neck in exasperation. The couple wasn't horrible, just taxing. After the long day, her patience was gone; she just wanted to leave.

That hope was dashed faster than it had been birthed.

“Well turn that ticket in and get back out there. Take over tables 2, 16, and 14 as well, Sharona just quit and they've been left sitting far too long.”

She tried to be understanding, but, as she entered her flat at seven, she just couldn't. Forgetting about her guest, she slammed the door and kicked off her trainers. Dropping her handbag on the coffee table, she made her way into the kitchen.

Finding the note from Barton on the table, she skimmed over it with mild interest. As with the past five days, he'd used her spare key to take care of the man within. The news was consoling. There was a longer period where of lucidity and the bleeding had nearly stopped. This was the best thing that had happened all day.

Carefully, she peeked into her room and noticed that his face was taut and his rest appeared more fitful. The lines creasing his face had become more prominent, making him look older and more gaunt. It seemed that his troubles had caught back up with him.

Had she been an air-headed twit, or perhaps an American, she might have pitied him. Having her own problems to fret over, she only hoped that there was something he had to help him make it through. Perhaps someone to look after him as Gerald and her own parents had for her.

Deciding to leave him be, she closed the door and called Patrick. He had whined over their canceled date, but did try his damnedest to hide that it bothered him. Orla knew he was attempting to understand, but she just couldn't deal with people tonight. Not after the abysmal day she'd had.

No movie was worth the torture. Not when the rest of the world would be flocking to the cinemas to see it.

Besides, Patrick would create a fuss over improving it. He'd fought her before when she'd had a day like this. No, resting at home was perfect for her. So, using the limited skills she'd picked up from her mother, she cracked open a box of spaghetti and a jar of pasta sauce while placing a pan of hamburger over the stove. Quite simple, but always a favorite dish.

* * *

There... there it was again, a soft gentle noise that was highly familiar. If only the haze would leave, it was highly inconvenient. Well, actually, it was more than just the haze. Most joints were severely stiff and limbs practically were unmovable. The lethargic-state doubtless responsible for the heaviness all over. Even his thoughts were sluggish.

It blurred everything except a pitiful weakness that was evident, and an acute ache that was building into a full-fledged pain.

Severus Snape hadn't felt like this for many years, and would sooner be damned than let anyone know.

As his consciousness strengthened, his worries reigned: Was the war still on-going? Had Potter failed? What was the state of the wizarding world now? Had _he_ failed?

Annoyed by nagging fears, he changed his focus on trying to sit up. His limbs still felt too heavy and the hint of a vigorous headache was emerging. An agitated sigh was all he could voice at the moment, and even that seemed deficient.

The soft scratching noise, that had served as white-noise, stopped, the silence uncomfortably obvious. There was no way he was at Hogwarts, or any hospital for that matter, the chaos would be ubiquitous. Silence would have been a dream in those ancient halls. His heart began pounding and his breathing, while labored, increased.

Had he been captured?

A sigh reached his ears, or was it a gasp? Even to his muddled ears he knew it to be unmistakably feminine. His first thoughts turned to the one woman he had loved, still loved. Was it Lily? Could he have died and she come to care for him?

Was the pain recompense for all the sins he'd committed against others? If so, he deserved it, and certainly not the presence of _her_... he would never deserve that. But, he would relish in it, in the tiny piece of heaven – no pun meant, for Snape would never practice something so ridiculous – he was allowed to indulge in.

Severus tried to call out to her, but it came out a hoarse croak instead. Usually such a lack of control would have been embarrassing, the weakness absolutely humiliating, but it was the furthest thing from his mind. Trying to open his eyes once more, the haze cleared and he saw light. At least, he assumed it was, things were still unfocused.

Groaning at the concentration it took to keep his eyes open, he tried again. “Li..ly.” It was definitely coherent that time, but so weak sounding. He hardly recognized his own voice-

A flash of red invaded his vision, he held his breath in apprehension. The blurred mass swayed before his tired eyes in a movement immediately recognized: hair. Had he been able to, he would have wept with joy, collapsed at her feet, and poured apologizes straight from his pathetic, bleeding heart.

After sixteen years, Lily had returned... to _him_. Or, for a blissful few moments, he had believed.

“Bloody hell, you _are_ awake.” It was a soft voice, melodious – or maybe not. There was a slight Irish slur to her words, not a native but certainly exposed. This was _not_ Lily's voice; Snape's heart clenched at the realization and he tried to pull himself back together. “Can you sit up?” he clenched his eyes, blocking out the offending figure. “Feel like talking?” Another shake of his head.

Of course it had been too good to be true, he would never be worthy of her presence again. He felt sick with his disappointment, or perhaps from his ailment, he really didn't care.

“Well, alright, that's to be expected. You know, you're quite lucky, you should be dead.” This stranger had no idea how badly he wanted to be, Merlin knew he should be. So why wasn't he? What had possessed this witch to help him? “Those bites were rather nasty,” right, Nagini, “I was starting to really worry. A week with little progress is not encouraging.”

Why did she continue to speak? It was agony. He just wanted the miserable twit to leave him be, to have let him die.

A sudden cool touch upon his forehead startled him. Severus's dark eyes shot open, and he caught the blur that was this mysterious witch leaning over him, hand upon his forehead. “Well, your fever's dropped. Definitely an improvement.” The feeling was gone, but he didn't close his eyes. Instead, he attempted to give her one of his familiar glares, the effort surprisingly difficult.

It didn't seem to deter her though, for he could make out the figure moving and felt a weight settle at the end of the bed. Damnable girl! Seeing as her form wasn't becoming any clearer, he quickly shut his eyes and turned his head from her.

“Things will still be rough, but you've made it this far, right?” It was as if she were trying to keep her voice annoyingly gentle for his sake. “Hopefully your color returns soon; despite your improvement, it isn't encouraging with you looking like an inch from death's door.”

His taciturn attitude didn't seem to bother her, for she stayed far longer than he'd liked. “Do you feel like eating?” Once more he shook his head, but honestly he was ravenous. “Very well, you should eat but if you think you could wait till morning-” The disagreement must have shown, because she emitted a light chuckle. “Alright, rest another few hours. I'll make you something light and wake you. Is that acceptable?”

There was a playful lilt to her question, was she mocking him? His ire was raised as he remembered all the others who had mocked him, she would probably be no different. He nodded tersely... or maybe just stiffly. Knowing how weak he was, it was probably just a ruddy-head bob.

“Sleep well then. I'll be back later.” Thankfully the weight beside him was soon gone. There would be no need in trying to sleep because he slipped right back into it, back into the sweet oblivion that he preferred. If only it could have been permanent.

He was blissfully dreamless, but waking still came too soon. Things were again hazy as he attempted to wake. Her voice cajoled him to the world of the living, but he fought it. Fought the disappointment that would surely follow.

And it did.

The blurred red once again made his heart clench, but he killed the hope faster than this stranger could. It would have destroyed him to not hear Lily's voice from the red-head above him.

It took a bit, but she finally started to come into focus. “Good morning.” Ah, so that white spot was an obnoxiously large smile. Her... gray, perhaps they were blue, eyes held a mirthful glint. “So, it won't be very tasty, but it should hold you over.”

She indicated to the bedside table where he assumed was some kind of soup. Fantastic. He sighed and looked up toward the white washed ceiling, being a patient had never sat well with him, he hated the waiting and he hated the weakness.

“Would you like help sitting up?” Instead of answering, he begrudgingly pushed himself up. It took so much effort; she tried to help him, but he managed to shoot and effective glare and finally was sitting upright. He tried to not let his lack of breath show. Merlin, was this all he was capable of?

She offered up a small smile, a quirk of her full lips simply added his dislike of her. Passing him the bowl and standing, she started to leave but then turned on her heels, her curly auburn hair swung over her shoulder. “By the way, my name is Orla, just in case you need something. I'll be back in a later.”

He finished his food in complete silence, and gently placed the bowl back on the end table, before laying back down. He hadn't meant to fall back asleep, but it happened. He awoke to sunlight flickering in through the window, lighting up a surprisingly sparse room. Figuring it had belonged to the woman, Orla, he expected a ridiculous amount of belongings and an obnoxious collage of colors. Silly feminine embellishments covering every inch. Instead, the sunlight hit upon white walls and gave a warm glow to the wooden dressers.

No pictures, nothing personal.

Pulling himself up, which still took a considerable amount of effort, he finally took stock of himself. Despite the lack in strength, he at least seemed in one piece. Everything exerted strain upon him, his vision may have cleared, but his limbs still felt like lead. A burning in his neck made him raise a hand to inspect. There was a bandage securely around the wound.

Voices drew him from his thoughts and he watched the door, apprehension making his stomach clench. When the door opened he thought his heart would stop, until Orla stepped though. Her smile dominated her face upon seeing him, the wizard following her appeared several years her senior.

He smiled as well. What was there to bloody smile about?

“Good morning,” the newcomer said, to which it certainly was not. “Orla was right, you do look better than a week ago.” Shooting a rather stern look at the young woman, her face fell and she slowly stalked out of the room. “I've only heard of one other incident quite like this, good thing too. This venom is highly unheard of. You were nearly a goner when Orla happened upon you.”

Approaching the bed, he pulled a vial out of his bag. The color was familiar and, after being passed it, so was the consistency and smell. It was the antidote Arthur Weasley had been given. He quickly downed it and passed it to the elder wizard.

After running a hand through graying hair, he held it out to Snape. “I'm Gerald Barton, a retired medi-wizard.”

Several seconds passed before he accepted the offered hand. His voice still rather raspy. “Severus-”

“Snape?”

“Yes.” Brown eyes seemed to harden and the man nearly went ridged. “Rumor had it that you'd disappeared. Harry Potter said you'd died.”

“And I should have,” he replied rather icily as he withdrew his hand. It was a tense minute as they glared at each other-... Until finally the words sunk in. “Potter's alive?”

Barton nodded. “The boy nearly died, along with many others, but he's finally gone for good.” Severus closed his eyes as a sigh of relief sounded, well it was a tremendous weight off his shoulders. The action apparently wasn't lost on Barton. “He claims that you were a hero, most of the wizarding world believes that he's delusional.”

He what? That boy was trying to convince everyone that he wasn't a bastard? Taking this with a grain of salt, he instead dreaded running into the boy again. Potter now knew some of his most personal secrets, that didn't sit well with him.

The elder wizard had been speaking, but he'd hardly noticed. That was until he got into Snape's face. “I know this girl's father, both are dear friends of mine. I don't care what side you were on; I might not recognize you, but your reputation is really what concerns me. If you harm her in anyway, I'll hex you till you wished you had died. She's like a daughter to me.”

Snape's brows furrowed, trying to catch up to this threat. Was he speaking of one of the students- _Orla_? That was what he was rambling over?

“I,” he began rasping, “have no interest in Ms.-...” That's when he realized he didn't know her surname. He truly didn't care, but calling her “Orla” seemed too personal and he didn't care for her enough to want to.

“Dacosta.”

“As I was saying,” he said coolly, “Ms. Dacosta holds none of my interest. I couldn't be happier to leave her alone and remove myself from her company.”

“And I as well.” Severus already hated this man. As thick headed and judgmental as all the other brainless dolts in the world. “Sadly, you have to remain under bed rest for a few days yet.” The silence continued again and he hoped that he'd just get the point that he was done.

His interest was quickly regained when Barton pulled out something from his bag: there was Snape's wand in his tanned hand. “It's astounding that it survived your apparation.” Indeed it was, there didn't seem to be a single dent in the wood. The medi-wizard set it down on the bedside table, then turned his hard brown eyes back to Snape. “I've placed wards around this flat, even if you have strength to cast, your magic will be weakened.”

Turning to leave, he stopped at the door. Snape was fuming inside, couldn't the bugger just shove off?

A hint of curiosity softened the other man's face as he asked, “Where were you trying to go?”

Raising one dark brow, he answered honestly. “No idea, I must have done so unconsciously.”

“Or being near death made you leave your rationality aside.” Snape glared, he didn't like the sound of that. Losing his control wasn't something he found reassuring, actually it was ruddy annoying. The fact that he couldn't even remember doing so was just more humiliating. “No witch or wizard would dare apparate while so grievously injured, or panicked, it leads to disaster.”

“I'm aware.”

Barton's gaze hardened again. The curiosity was gone as his hand turned the door handle. “Don't bring up anything about the wizarding world to Orla." Snape had the sudden desire to risk apparation. "She's been rather sheltered-”

Scoffing, which wasn't good for his dry throat, he couldn't contain his disbelief. “Are you telling me that she knows little about the war?”

Was that shame in his eyes? Snape caught it, even as brief as it was. “Yes, it was her father's choice not mine.”

“Yes, because it is a known _fact_ that ignorance improves character.”

“I'm not her father," he sighed. "Just restrain yourself from bringing it up.” Opening the door, he finished with, “I'll stop by again in a couple days, by then you should be well enough to leave.”

Finally he was gone. Ignoring the drone of their conversation in the other room, he glanced at his wand. Was it really over? Was he gone, Potter had truly finished him? It was... surreal. The trouble would never be over and abusers of magic were everywhere, but the brunt of the storm was gone.

At least Voldemort's followers would be too busy running to cause any problems at the present time. Aurors would be crawling every inch of the British Isles for the cowards. His thoughts turned dark again. When they found out he was alive, would Potter's word be enough to keep him out of Azkaban? Dumbledore was now gone, he was the only one to defend him before... the remains of the order saw him as a traitor still. Not to mention he had to worry about running into surviving death eaters.

How many had died because of his actions? How many more would the world mourn because of events he sent into motion?

“What is it the Americans use in the movies? Penny for your thoughts?” There she was, in the doorway, interrupting his musings again. “Oh don't give me that look, I'm only joking.” Placing something white on the bed, he realized that it was his shirt. “Gerald's wife is amazing, your clothes are just like new.”

If she had his shirt- that's when Severus realized that he was bare from the waist up. Of course she couldn't see his slight discomfort, he wouldn't let her. “Give her my thanks.”

“Of course. Now I think proper introductions are in order, after all you are staying in my flat. I'm Orla Dacosta, and you are?”

“A complete stranger.”

She gave a small laugh, genuinely amused. “Very well _stranger_ , are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Don't lie,” she said with a grin, “What do you feel like having? I can make more soup, unless you feel like something more solid?”

He wanted to tell her to stuff it, that he could eat whatever the hell he wanted... but he'd be damned if she saw him sick. “I guess a broth will do.” Going to hand her the bowl from the night before, he realized it was gone. How had he not noticed before?

She paused before walking out of the door. “What were you doing in the park? What happened to you?”

In a typical Snape fashion, he crossed his arms and managed a glare that would've caused his students to practically faint from fear. “My problems are none of your concern. I thank you for your care, but we are strangers and I intend for us to part that way, Ms. Dacosta.”

The smile faltered for the first time since he'd woken up. She turned back to the hallway, but she didn't move. “Well can I at least have a name, other than Stranger, to call you by?”

Sighing, he relented. “Snape.”

She offered a slight smile, nothing compared to her earlier ones, before leaving. When she did, he grabbed his shirt (the action nearly made him dizzy because he moved too fast) and pulled it back on. The next few days were going to be long... too long. He couldn't wait to be back on his own; he, at least, would be without annoying company and couldn't make himself feel weak.

Only a few more days and he could be alone again.


End file.
